


Fires Of Samhain

by Elinie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Miraculous Spooktober, Mystery, Post-Hogwarts, Romance, Time Loop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:28:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26618974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elinie/pseuds/Elinie
Summary: For eight years, Hermione has been drowning in the ocean of someone else's pity and sympathy, drowning, and still cannot swim out. Therefore, she throws a bright burgundy scarf around her neck and Apparites to the Black Lake - to think, observe, say hello to Willow. Painful ripples touch the water, the wind gusts in gusts on the still stunted bushes, but Hermione decisively moves to the tree, so that in a minute she can simply go down by the trunk and close her eyes.Everyone lost someone in that merciless battle, nicknamed the Great by a cruel irony, and every October these losses were especially acute. At first, Hermione lost her parents and failed to reverse the spell once cast, then there were acquaintances, friends, teachers, and then somehow unnoticed for herself she was left completely alone.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 20
Kudos: 67
Collections: Hearts and Cauldrons Discord Members, SSHG Spooktober Fest 2020





	1. Chapter 1

The alarm flashes: 4:30. Outside the window branches sway lazily, leaves fall to the ground, the wind howls through all cracks, it penetrates her dreams, frightens, warns, and soothes. The wind is the only being that still remembers the echoes of the past.

  
It's cold in the room. The silver embroidering on bluish wallpapers disappears, dissolves into the darkness. The grayish predawn twilight is fraught with answers to everything, but there is no one to ask a simple question. There is no one in her room, and there is no point to ask the question anymore.

  
A bed with a once lush canopy seems so large and unnecessary in the damp emptiness of the bedroom. The canopy hangs down in torn pieces and only mocks her life now. It serves as a mockery of the once-possible greatness. She did not want greatness, she never asked for close attention to her person, she just wanted to live. She wanted to finally find peace and to breathe. Hermione lowers her bare feet to the floor and stares in annoyance at the blinking red numbers. Very soon she will get up, put on her bright robe, as a mockery of her everyday life, make herself a coffee, grab a couple of sandwiches and run away to work at the Ministry. And on weekends, Hermione will lower her eyes and promise that she will certainly drop by to visit Harry and Ginny. Days will go by, and she will still keep promising.

  
Eight years have passed since the Battle of Hogwarts, something was rebuilt, something was scattered to ashes, the School was opened, the laws were rewritten, and life went on as usual. Friends got married and had children, traveled the world, and came back to greet Samhain every autumn. Because autumn always comes, regardless of time and emotional experiences. Because even the Whomping Willow always freezes in anticipation of the last day of October, and the Shrieking Shack no longer seems like a continuous frightening spot, and ducks fly to Black Lake.

  
Because time keeps running and blinking in the dark, like this all too sensible alarm clock, but Hermione is not on her way with it. Her life remained next to her parents who disappeared in Australia, next to Ron, who drove off to Romania with his brother, next to Godric's Hollow, and at the graves of all the victims. An outstanding witch of her time. The Brains of the Golden Trio. Brilliant witch of the Ministry! Hermione hypnotizes the alarm clock and gets out of her bed. It's especially hard to meet Samhain every autumn. But she got used to it.

  
Hermione sits in the kitchen drinking strong coffee without sugar. Cigarette smoke is in the air, although she does not smoke, and a premonition of rain. She needs to survive this day. Smiling at colleagues, digging into papers, picking up a coat from the dry cleaner, and politely declining Ginny's invitation. Hermione tries her best. Tries to conform to her standards. She has an apartment on the outskirts of London, with two rooms and a spacious kitchen. Colorless curtains on the windows and a checkered tablecloth. And she uses her wand only in the most extreme cases. The only thing that reminds her of her magic in this stronghold of everyday life is the immortal Crooks, who knows how to read the thoughts of his hostess, but on such a day even he is silent.

  
She needs to survive this day and then act at the behest of the heart. Hermione finishes her toast with cherry jam, regretfully shakes up the rest of her coffee in a cup, and walks off to work. By lunchtime, the weather gets worse completely. The sky is covered with heavy gray clouds, gloom, like impenetrable darkness, envelops the earth, dust, nailed by the first cold drops, awaits the denouement. The Japanese maple tree, carried by someone's evil joke to the rainy British lands, trembles fearfully in the wind, but Hermione has nothing to do with it. The chief, looking blindly at her circles under the eyes, almost by force kicks her out of the Ministry and sends her to rest until it becomes easier.

  
For eight years, Hermione has been drowning in the ocean of someone else's pity and sympathy, drowning, and still unable to swim out. Therefore, she wraps a bright burgundy scarf around her neck and apparates to the Black Lake - she needs to think, to observe, to say hello to the Willow. Painful ripples touch the water, the wind whispers in the still stunted bushes, but Hermione decisively moves to the tree, so that in a minute she can simply go sit down by the trunk and close her eyes. 

  
Everyone lost someone in that merciless Battle, nicknamed the Great by a cruel irony, and every October these losses become especially acute. At first, Hermione lost her parents and failed to reverse the spell she once cast, then there were acquaintances, friends, teachers, and then somehow unnoticed for herself she was left completely alone. She remembers, suddenly, Ron sitting in the kitchen of her apartment and complaining to Harry about his miserable life.

  
“Man, I really don't know,” Ron explained, running his fingers through his matted hair and searching for the answer in a can of Muggle beer.

“We've all lost someone,” Harry answered evenly: he chased the surviving Death Eaters day and night and he had no time for psychoanalysis sessions.

  
"That's what I am talking about, but Mione seemed to lose her mind: she keeps inventing a thousand and one reasons for repentance and constantly lectures me about what we were wrong about."

  
“I don’t know, maybe you should try to talk to her?”

"Oh, I tried, you know? I even took her to my mother, I thought she would help, but Mom cries all the time, you know, and looks at our clock, she's Mom, what can you do about her?" Ron sighed and reached for a new can. "We must move on. I mean, he was a greasy bastard, why should Mione kill herself now like that?"

  
Harry first goggled at Ron's unexpected remark, and then sighed in solidarity and uncorked his beer.

  
Hermione all this time stood at the door and heard all the conversations of her friends. She felt as if someone had turned a bucket of water over her head, she flew into the kitchen and stood in front of Ron, hands on her hips.

  
"Is that how you are speaking now? Everyone considers our fallen heroes, but somehow some heroes deserve more attention than others? Oh yeah, and crazy Hermione needs psychiatric help?"

  
Ron got up from his chair and spread his arms.

  
"Mione, why are you starting this again? I didn't mean anything like that. I want us to have a normal relationship again, and you continue to live in the past and keep blaming us. I'm tired."

  
“How sweet of you, Ron, to run away with your tail between your legs as soon as it gets difficult,” Hermione flared up. "Wasn't it like this in times of the Horcruxes?"

  
"You are gonna remind it to me for the rest of your days, aren't you?" Ron snapped.

  
“Guys, whoa, let's calm down and talk,” Harry tried to intervene.

  
"There's nothing to talk about here," Hermione lifted her chin. "You, of all people, should understand me, Harry, you are also an orphan! Our losses are not limited to friends or teachers, we also lost our parents."

  
"Then why are you so mad? If it's just about your parents?" Ron interrupted.

  
"Because we could have saved at least someone, but we indifferently left!"

  
"Oh yeah, come on, go on, tell me how we left your damned Slytherin there to die! Go to your Slytherin bastard you are so much in love with!" Ron yelled, clenching his fists.

  
“Ron, come on, mate, calm down.” Harry ran to his friend and grabbed him by the shoulder. Hermione turned from the door.

  
"I will go, but you will disappear from my apartment and my life completely."

  
“Mione, I… Wait."

  
“And I told you a thousand times not to call me "Mione."

  
With these words, she left the house, heartily slamming the door at last.

  
Eight years have passed. She, little by little, made up with Ron and occasionally sent him letters for Christmas. Harry and Ginny sometimes invited her to visit and asked her to get out of her stupor and start living, but the guilt that snaked around Hermione's heart just did not want to let her go.

  
Therefore, from time to time she came to the Shrieking Shack to wander around it in silence and repent for the umpteenth time. The wind rustled in the branches of the trees and seemed to overhear her quiet confessions. There was, of course, another place where Hermione really wanted to go, but which she feared to no end: Snape's house in Spinner's End. She tried several times to get inside, but the protective shields that held even after his death did not give in.

  
After finishing her annual confession, Hermione decided to try her luck again and Apparated to the Spinner's End. As if possessed by ghosts, the house sparkled with the reflections of lanterns, terrified with indistinct shadows, bristled with peeling paint and crumpled roof, and yet, it attracted attention, fascinated, beckoned. Hermione was sure that all the frightening devastation was nothing more than a skillful illusion that lived even after the death of the master.

  
She closed her eyes and put her hand to the protective ward, quietly asking permission to enter. And the door gave way.

  
A wind blew, almost knocking her off her feet, hurling a handful of rancid leaves into her face, bringing the smells of fire and herbs. Hermione stepped inside, holding her wand in front of her, and immediately blinked at the light that blinded her eyes. The house smelled of juniper and beeswax, something was bubbling in the pot, and firewood was crackling in the hearth.

  
"Ghosts definitely do not brew potions" - flashed through Hermione's thoughts. But could it be that Snape was alive all this time?

  
Footsteps were heard from the depths of the house and a ghost appeared, haunting her dreams for all long eight years. He seemed to be almost unchanged, only fresh bruises on his neck and a torn robe made Hermione understand that she was not dreaming of this sudden nightmare.

  
"Ppp ... Professor Snape?"

  
"It can't be... Finally, at least someone is alive... Maybe you can help me figure out what has happened to me?"

\----The end of chapter one----


	2. Chapter 2

Heavy drops drummed on the bushes that had lost their yellowed foliage, the bad weather brought migraines. A damp and cold October shamefully capitulated to the west, hiding from the battlefield behind the clouds. The grayness of late autumn covered the already nondescript landscape with impenetrable gauze, spoiling the mood and taking away the slightest desire to leave the house.

  
Hermione didn't need to. She wrapped an overcoat that was too thin over herself, not noticing that she was trembling violently. The hotly heated house and the smell of herbs choked Hermione, making her almost gasp for air, her head was spinning. Not every day ghosts from the past appear out of nowhere and even ask for help!

  
Snape thoughtfully watched his unexpected guest barely standing on her feet, and came to the conclusion that good manners had not hurt anyone, even though he had never been famous for them. Taking a step towards Hermione he reached for her, but she recoiled.

  
“Don't be afraid, Miss Granger. I suppose you need to sit down."

  
“I… Professor Snape, I don’t understand. You are alive?" Hermione staggered, Snape, nevertheless, grabbed her by the elbow.

  
"Come with me, I definitely wouldn't do you any harm," he muttered and led his guest into the kitchen.

  
Hermione barely moved her legs, her mind was clouded, but Snape confidently supported her, not letting her lose her balance.

  
Be as it may, he looked a little like a ghost. But the palm that touched her elbow was warm.

The house smelled deliciously of juniper, laurel, and wormwood, evoking memories of potion-making lessons, childhood, and belief in a better future that never came. Outside the window, a shower was pouring into the windows, fog spread from the west, leaves rustled disturbed by the wind, but this strange meeting directed her heavy thoughts in the right direction.

  
Having brought his guest to the kitchen, Snape motioned her to sit down with a confident gesture, while he began making tea with herbs. Hermione finally managed to catch her breath for a while and look around. She had never been in his house, of course, but the dilapidated walls visible from the street did not fit in any way with the cozy decoration inside. Jars and bottles of ointments and potions were everywhere, bunches of herbs were drying under the ceiling, bright green rugs adorned the floor, and the whole interior looked more like the hut of a forest witch than the dwelling of a formidable Potions Master. However, even in a state of shock, Hermione was able to notice several bookcases that lurked in the living room, a leather sofa, an armchair with dark blue upholstery, and heavy curtains that hid the room from prying eyes.

  
Ignoring Hermione's dismay, Snape put a cup of mint tea in front of her. He went to the window, opening it and letting in the autumn dampness and echoes of the thunderstorm into the kitchen.

  
“I don’t know exactly when it all happened,” Snape began after a moment's silence. “I somehow Apparated here on the day of the Battle of Hogwarts, took care of the wounds, and seemed to pass out. I suppose we managed to win?"

  
"We almost succeeded..." Hermione sighed.

  
"Who?" Snape asked without turning around.

  
"Fred, Colin Creevey, Professor Vector, Remus, and Tonks..."

  
"Lupins," Snape sighed and ran his hand over his face. "Draco?"

  
"Alive, like his parents."

  
"Potter?"

  
"Harry came back from the other side, one might say, he saw Professor Dumbledore, I think it was he who brought him back to life." Hermione smiled.

  
"Why am I not surprised?"

Hermione left his reply unanswered, she felt that she was losing her mind.

  
"What about you?" Snape asked, unable to resist the silence.

  
"The conversation is not about me. Have you tried asking for help? Did you consult the Healers? Has someone taken care of your wound? Why…"

  
“Hush, Miss Granger, too many questions."

  
"But you are alive, Professor!"

  
“I am not sure, Miss Granger. Maybe I died and this is my own nightmare? I can't leave the house, or rather, I can, of course, but I find myself again on that day of the Battle of Hogwarts, looking for a potion to swallow, I bleed again and all this drama. Then I lose consciousness and appear in the kitchen on the eve of Samhain, trying to get out, but I get caught in the rain, the souls of the dead rush towards me and I have to return. I may be overly dramatic, but I've been living in this kind of Purgatory for several years now. How many years, by the way?"

  
"Eight."

  
“Eight…” Snape echoed and walked away from the window.

  
“I tried to enter your house for many years, but something wouldn't allow me,” Hermione said thoughtfully. "So why now?"

  
“Samhain’s midnight is approaching, the line between the worlds is thinning,” Snape explained with a shrug.

  
"But you are not a ghost!" Cried Hermione, jumping to her feet.

  
"Look."

  
Snape reached out and brought his hand to his face. In the soft flickering of the lamp, one could see how his skin had thinned, how the veins were visible in the light, how pale flashes of fading magic barely escaped from his fingertips."

  
“I’m not a ghost, but I don’t know how much longer I can endure such madness. Drink your tea, Miss Granger, and tell me about your life."

  
“This isn't about me, Professor Snape! You need help."

  
“You have an amazing ability to state the obvious,” Snape snapped.

  
"Stop it. Eight years have passed, and all these years I kept blaming myself for leaving you to die in the Shack, and then you suddenly appear and try to scare me with ridicule. I'm not afraid of your sarcasm, I'm not afraid of anything anymore."

  
"Miss Granger?" Snape looked into her eyes, too closely for her liking, and his gaze made Hermione uneasy.

  
"Never mind. How can I help you?"

  
"The question is not how you may help me, the question is, how do you get to my house again? See you next year at Samhain?" Snape joked bitterly.

  
“You’ve always underestimated me, sir, but I’m no longer looking for someone else’s approval. I still have the Time-Turner, we can try it," Hermione narrowed her eyes slyly.

  
"Why are you doing this?"

  
"I was allowed to enter your house today, so there are reasons for this."

  
"Don't be so dramatic, Miss Granger, drink your tea, and..."

  
"You may as well assign me detention, Professor," Hermione waved him off. "Eight years have passed, I am no longer a frightened first year."

  
“You never were.

  
"Certainly not. So where shall we start?"


	3. Chapter 3

Huffing with annoyance, Hermione threw aside the oversized folder and rubbed her aching temples: the weather had become completely nasty and brought Hermione a series of migraines. Neither Muggle pills, nor magic spells, nor tea, nor candles helped, and then, as luck would have it, the Ministry requested another useless report. Life became more and more unbearable.

  
Harry's invitation to their usual Friday Muggle films party remained unanswered, adding to Hermione's agony the ever-present feeling of guilt. Hermione chuckled nervously and took a ragged breath.

  
Hermione had long since given up trying to figure out what was going wrong with her life. Her strange encounter with Professor Snape left her completely shaken and asking herself: how come Professor Snape was alive and why she discovered him now? However, she was glad to see him, there was no need to play pretend in front of him. She did not have to force smiles and she did not need to bother with meaningless conversations. Her friends tried to help her. They expressed sympathy. They tried to cheer her up. They invited her to visit. A year or two would pass, and they would become bored with Hermione's never-ending depression. Life would whirl them in its whirlwind of problems and solutions, their children would grow up, the whistle of the Hogwarts Express would whistle, and the path would lead them into the future. While Hermione would be left to dwell in her never-ending depressive thoughts of the past.

  
She suddenly remembered her conversation with Ginny. Her friend lowered her eyes and shifted from foot to foot, and then, collecting her thoughts, Ginny mumbled:

"Mione, come to the Burrow this weekend, Mom will be glad to see you."

Hearing these words, Hermione mumbled the first polite excuse that came to her mind and hurried to take her leave. Of course, Molly would be glad to see her, the very same Hermione that once broke the heart of her son.

  
Hermione clasped her whitened fingers together, guilt rolling up her throat like a sticky lump. Yes, Ron was a nice guy: brave, honest, sometimes funny and unbearable, but loyal, and in general, a good friend. Hermione ran to complain to Ron about any failure, she was too ashamed to distract Harry. Harry was carrying the whole world on his shoulders and as Hermione assumed, Harry didn't have any more energy to deal with her problems. So Ron helped her, consoled her, muttered something reassuring. Mrs. Weasley couldn't get enough of it, everything was going so well!

  
But The War ended, the first most difficult year flew by, Ron slowly began to pester that they all lost someone, but this was not the reason to bury themselves within four walls, and in general, it was high time for her to finish all her depressive nonsense and move on. He was telling her that they needed to get married or something like that. Hermione broke up with him after that, and the following night she was lying on her huge bed and hot tears were streaming down her face: if Ron didn't care about the loss of her parents, then she had nothing more to do with him. The next morning Ron stayed hesitating at her door and held a bouquet of sunflowers in his hands, but Hermione was adamant: she could not become either his girlfriend or his wife, and it would be better for them to break up that instant.

  
He left, and a bitter, like an autumn fog, emptiness settled in her heart. Perhaps it was depression speaking, but suddenly Hermione saw very clearly that Ron always used her for the sake of his own ego and success. She checked his homework. She helped him to pass the exams. She cared about him like the second Molly. She taught him fancy spells and cleaned up his cauldrons and washed his socks. Who could handle his problems better than his clever friend Hermione! And he... he didn't even know about her favorite flowers, continuing to bring her sunflowers. Hermione angrily threw the vase into the wall and cried harder.

  
Several more years passed, but everything in her life remained the same. Ron moved to Romania and for the first time made independent progress in the study of dragons. Hermione was quietly happy for him but preferred not to get in touch with him anymore. Her only relatives were Harry and Ginny, but they were too consumed by their own lives. Until recently, Granger existed "day-to-night" and no longer expected anything miraculous from her life. Every potential gentleman saw her as a living walking sensation, and never a person.

  
And then fate played this strange joke on her.

  
And now she threw herself headlong into an adventure she understood so little about. One thing was clear: Professor Snape needed help and she needed her chance for redemption. Hermione remembered how he made her a cup of tea, completing his confusing story, and politely said that it was late, it was already night outside and she had better leave. Hermione shook her head at her professor's bad manners and promised to return as soon as possible.

  
When the Time-Turner was found in the far desk drawer, wrapped in a pair of worn-out socks, Hermione threw the chain around her neck and realized that her hands were shaking. No matter how hard Snape tried to hide his emotions, no matter how strong-willed he was, his desperate eyes frightened Hermione. How could she help him when she understood so little? How could she dare give him false hope?

  
Summoning all her courage, Hermione counted down twelve hours and turned the Time-Turner.

  
A strong wind blew almost knocking Hermione down, the fog released its misty tentacles and slowly crawled along the ground, looking for new victims, the pale moon, surrounded by clouds, looked down in horror.

  
Hermione took a step towards Snape's house and froze, attracted by the faint flicker that resembled the reflection of a Patronus summon spell. Carefully moving closer to the entrance, she noticed that the professor had left the protective walls of his dwelling and was standing at the very doors with his arms outstretched wide. And from all sides, ragged shadows flew to him. They were similar to Dementors or clots of revived mist, and in these shadows, one can see faces: young and old, beautiful and ugly, frightened and spiritualized. They flew and flew closer to Snape, intending to embrace him in their cold embrace, and he stood, boldly looking directly at them, and did not even try to defend himself.

  
Obeying the instinct of self-preservation and her own magic, Hermione released her otter to meet the shadows and then summoned the brightest blast of light she could. The shadows shrank painfully into a ball, frightened by the light, and pulled back slightly. Realizing that she didn't have time to think, Hermione ran up to Snape, threw open the door, and dragged him inside.

  
"Professor, what the hell is going on here ?!"

  
"Ah, Miss Granger, you're back" Snape replied as if nothing had happened.

  
"As you can see. What was that just now?"

  
“My past, I suppose, has come to demand retribution."

  
Hermione looked at Snape in dismay, not noticing that the fire still burned brightly in the hearth and the house was intoxicated with the aromas of wormwood, thyme, and juniper.


	4. Chapter 4

_«He was like frozen sky_

_In October night_

_Darkest cloud endless storm_

_Raining from his heart_

_Coldest month, deepest blue tearing down the spring_

_October and April» ©_

The Rasmus — October and April

"Ghosts of the past?" Hermione muttered in disbelief, staring at Snape. A thunderstorm broke out again, the branches of the chokeberry growing nearby, which according to legends was planted on churchyards, knocked on the kitchen window, bringing horror to an already gloomy and damp evening.

  
“Obviously,” Snape shrugged indifferently, walking toward the fire and throwing off his wet jacket along the way.

  
Hermione shook her head and winced as she pulled off her own wet trench.

  
"And why did you go out to meet them?" She asked stupidly. The more she tried to grasp the strange situation in which she found herself thanks to her own desperation, the more confused she became.

  
“Miss Granger, I refuse to answer your silly questions."

  
"Professor, if you want me to help you, you better stop snapping at me without any reason, and you'd better start cooperating!"

  
"I did not ask for your help. Have some tea. And leave me alone."

  
Hermione gasped in indignation.

  
"How dare you?"

  
"Dare what, may I ask? You burst into my house, bombard me with questions, keep telling me something about redemption, then you found an illegal Time-Turner and throw yourself headlong into the fire in such a Gryffindor fashion that I don't even have time to object!"

  
Hermione nervously fiddled with the Time-Turner chain and threw a confused look at the window: of course, she naively imposed her help when Snape did not ask for it, and now he disappeared into the living room as if nothing had happened, leaving her standing in the middle of the kitchen and watching the kettle boiling on the stove. Throwing her wet coat aside, Hermione rushed after Snape.

  
“Just so you know, Professor, I’m not imposing myself on anyone, and the last thing on you, so you don’t have to practice your wit here. You are free to remain further alone with your ghosts, I dare not disturb you anymore!"

Without giving Snape time to answer, Hermione ran into the corridor and slammed the door. Of course, she preferred not to think about what to do with the extra twelve hours she was given by the Time-Turner. She stuck in the time loop without any answers.

  
Severus watched his unexpected guest go and clasped his whitened fingers together.

  
What was he really hoping for? She did not owe him anything, he had successfully ruined his own life without any help, and the time to answer for his actions had come. Yes, Snape knew it pretty well, but where did this uneasy feeling in his heart come from? Why did he flinch when his front door slammed and the light of someone else's Lumos burst through the darkness?

There always was too much darkness in his life, but he was not used to sharing his fears with anyone. The impoverished life of a practically homeless boy, the eternal abusing and beating from his father, the desperate desire to learn how to write, read and do magic and just to be better than the other street urchins from the working area of his poor town, to prove to himself that he was capable of more than aimless existence, all his struggles taught him to rely solely on himself without waiting for help. For a while, however, a spark named Lily overshadowed everything else, and the shadows left him to lurk in the corners for a while.

There were too many differences between them: a bright friendly girl too quickly gained the fame of a universal favorite, and a gloomy and insecure boy only gained a lot of enemies. He did not care about the consequences of his actions, therefore, perhaps, he ruined everything with his own hands, pushing away the only friend who did care. Later, he repeatedly recalled that stupid incident near the lake, his chagrin, and humiliation, the laughter of the boys who bullied him, who bullied him simply because they were bored and wanted to be "different from Slytherin freak" once again found nearby. Or because one of them wanted to impress the impregnable Lily Evans.

There was too much darkness for the light to breakthrough. So, darkness became a part of his life, swallowing him whole, and hiding everything else. At heart, he knew that he had already stepped on a slippery path, but a miracle that could bring him back on the right track did not happen. Having become a part of the brotherhood of the minions of the Lord, he often wondered at what exact moment everything went wrong, and he understood that it was certainly not after that shameful and stupid scene by the lake when he pushed Lily away from himself. Oh no! Everything happened much earlier! Right at that time, when the doors of his parental house slammed behind his back and the gates of Hogwarts, a fairytale castle, were opened. But the tale was too far from being real. Nobody cared for a poor half-blood boy who used to stay quiet. Peers despised the tattered boy who, by some stupid accident, appeared to be a Slytherin, and a girl with a sunny smile made too many friends, and the Marauders continued their bullying. Humiliation and open threats were perceived by the good Headmaster in the yellow mantle as innocent tricks, and the werewolf left without a leash was just a funny pet dog, "my boy, do not think to tell anyone about Remus." He recalled how he sat on a bed in the Infirmary wing and looked at the shaggy ghost of the moon. Back then, he firmly decided to join the Death Eaters in order to find a place to belong.

Darkness was hovering above his head, swallowing all the possible light and hope. Death followed death; one defeat gave rise to another. Nobody needed his vows and duties - neither the serpentine bastard nor the good grandfatherly Headmaster in the yellow robes, who moved the Order members like puppets in some cruel play. What could he offer them? His life in exchange for Lily's life? Who cared about the sullen ragged man? He was begging at the feet of both his Masters, of both Light and Darkness, hoping to do at least something, but the ongoing party did not take into account the interests of a desperate outcast boy. He later asked himself if he loved Lily the way he thought he did, and with terrifying clarity, he came to the conclusion that everything bright in his life was somehow connected with her, and this light entailed inevitable darkness. But he continued to fight for one goal he knew, for a blind desire to prove to everyone that he was more than a spy, better than a traitor, and worth much more than a tattered man from Cokeworth.

She crept into his life like light creeps into the cracks of a house once immersed in darkness. An insufferable know-it-all with a mane of wild hair and a million questions about everything at once and about nothing in particular. She was too far from Lily to even try to compare them, and too different from the others. She seemed to be the only one who was not afraid of the terrifying Professor Snape. She just looked into his eyes and saw something. For example, she wrote ridiculous notes with words of gratitude for a brewed potion that saved her after the meeting with a basilisk or apologized for accidentally (he knew for sure that deliberately) setting his robes into fire or babbled something inaudible in gratitude for the help after her failure with the Polyjuice potion. Admittedly, a cat's mustache adorned her, as he crookedly noted to himself. And yet, she defended him so fiercely before Lupin and the whole teacher’s room after that humiliating incident with Neville’s Boggart. Teenage crush, multiplied by maximalism and lack of common sense, what else, if not this, was all that was happening? He never valued his life, not because he was not afraid to die, he just knew that no one would care. One spy, who failed everything, who would remember Professor Snape, who threw his life at the feet of the Light?

Her light suddenly ripped through the darkness that had gathered around Snape.

  
And now she was Merlin knows where, she ran out into this crazy rain, because she got angered by his outburst of irritation, and the past stood in front of Snape again raising its ugly head to look him into the eyes.

  
Once again, he could not manage his anger and lost another person whose light so unexpectedly tore the darkness of his life.

  
He'd better go find Hermione, but he was not even able to leave his house. However, it was unlikely that she went too far. Severus got to his feet and cautiously walked to the door, listening to the raging weather. Someone's uncertain steps were heard from behind the door, as if someone was trying to enter, but could not make up his mind. They need to talk. And Miss Granger was right: he really needed help, but how to silence his own pride?

  
Snape threw open the door and bumped into Hermione, who was already soaked through.

  
“Miss Granger, I shouldn't have..."

  
"Professor, I need to apologize...'

  
"Come in, you are completely soaked through. And it's not good to attract the past, especially on a night like this."

  
"And would you let me help you?"

  
“I suppose, I have no choice. Come on in!'


	5. Chapter 5

_“I remember the last time I saw you_  
_Oh you held your head up proud_  
_I laughed inside when I saw how you were standing out in the crowd_  
_You're such a part of who I am_  
_Now that part will just be void_  
_No matter how much I need you now_  
_Heaven needed you more"©_

Jo Dee Messina - Heaven Was Needing A Hero

Hermione stared at Snape, who once again stood indifferently against the back wall of the house, filled with jars, vials, and cans of ointments, decoctions, and potions. Time passed, the conversation, which should have taken place twelve hours ago, seemed completely lost for words.

  
She imagined this unexpected meeting with Snape for a thousand times, especially in times of melancholy, when she felt sad and her feet carried her to the Black Lake: where she could always wander in silence and think about her unfulfilled future.

  
Standing on the shore, Hermione shivered and rubbed her chilled palms - the night promised to be cold, and she did not want to turn into an icicle by morning. October nights were cold, starless, and cruel, they always took away the most precious things. On the withered grass covered with a frost of the first cold weather, some small fleas were jumping, right there, in heaps of leaves red as blood, and frozen as grief. The moon was wrapped in fog and reproachfully looked at the chilled Hermione, but she sighed, looked at the rippled surface of the Lake, and caught the reflection of ragged clouds there.

  
She stood on the shore of this Lake, hidden from all, the Blake Lake seemed to emerge from the Brothers Grimm fairy tale. And Hermione just stood and thought about the role she played in this merciless fairy tale. And was it really a fairy tale? What brought her on a dawn morning to the Lake, covered with a misty haze? Insomnia, lack of escape, or simple sadness?

  
The wind was blowing, piercing to the bone, but Hermione, oddly enough, liked it, she felt alive. A strange, almost forgotten feeling... Everyone had some things that they could not share with anyone, except, perhaps, with the lake, with the Forbidden Forest, and, maybe, with the wind.

  
Hermione stood wrapped in a red sweater, Mrs. Weasley's present this past Christmas. She looked at the autumn sky covered with gray rainy clouds and imagined how a thunderstorm would break out, washing away the bitterness of the past and bringing the fleeting calm, and it would be nice to lie under the covers in such weather and listen to the rain beating on the roof, and stop looking for answers on this bitter and cold shore.

  
Hermione sighed and pulled her sweater tighter. Where was it now, her own shore? And was there any? She tried in vain to find her lost life. The life there was no return to.

  
Hermione warmed her hands on a metal can, in which a bluish light burned - her trademark spell, and smiled silly at her unfulfilled dreams.

  
More than anything, she would like to change her tragic past, and now, when this very past, in the guise of Professor Snape, looked into her eyes, she lost all the words.

  
"I don't know where to start," Snape hesitated. "I only know that I found myself in a kind of time loop, in which I have to live the same year from May to October without the opportunity to escape."

  
"But, sir, how this could be possible?"

  
Snape thought for a while, swapped a few cans, added a few pinches of various herbal teas to the kettle, and returned to where he was.

  
"Time has no boundaries and limits, it is quite possible that I managed to fall into one of its facets when I almost died at the Shack."

  
"Professor, about this, actually..." Hermione hesitated.

  
“Miss Granger, I beg you to spare me your pangs of conscience. You were children, a battlefield awaited you, you did your best."

  
"But we didn't do anything!"

  
"You didn't have to, everyone has their own thorny path to repentance. Let's get back to our daily business: I don't know if I was really on the verge of death or if I had hallucinations, but some force offered me two ways: Hogwarts and the Arc of Death."

  
"And you, of course, chose the third one."

  
"I assumed that if I were in Hogwarts, I would continue to exist as a ghost, you will agree, a dubious pleasure to keep the Bloody Baron company and scare the freshmen for the next three millennia?"

  
Hermione smiled.

  
“Therefore, I gathered all my strength and Apparated from the Shack to get stuck here in the end."

  
“You tried to cheat death."

  
"One might assume that I succeeded, I know for sure that I only have to cross the border from the door of my house to the gate to break this loop."

  
"But the ghosts of the past..."

  
"They come to haunt me. I can hardly be called a hero, Miss Granger, and I certainly will never be a good person, no matter what you think of me, I'm sorry, but... damn, sometimes all this just hurts."

  
"How can I help you?"

  
"Tell me what is happening on the other side of life and help me meet this Samhain the right way."


	6. Chapter 6

"Help you celebrate Samhain properly?" Hermione frowned. "What exactly do you mean by that?"

  
"Ah, of course," Snape nodded to his own thoughts. “I keep forgetting that you are a Muggle-born, and some of the rituals of the wizarding world are simply unknown to you."

  
Hermione grimaced indecisively: many years have passed since she struggled to become a part of the wizarding world, she experienced ups and downs, the bitterness of loss and the joy of victory, she long ago considered herself forever different from others, but hearing something like that from Professor Snape... Hermione felt like an insecure first year again and lowered her head.

  
“However,” Severus continued, “It’s never too late to learn, and besides, the loss of proper study of ancient rituals, which was included in the course of the History of Magic earlier, could not but affect your education."

  
Hermione's eyes lit up with joy: the opportunity to learn something new always lifted her spirits, no matter how many problems she'd been dealing with.

  
"Samhain, Miss Granger, The End of the Harvest Season. The holiday was dedicated to the summing up of the year. Subsequently, the date coincided with the eve of All Saints Day. The Celtic calendar, rooted in ancient magical beliefs, divided the year into two parts: a dark one, which began in late October - early November (the month of Samonios), and a light one. The light part began in March - April (the month of Giamonius). The change of parts of the year, like the months, occurred with the onset of the new moon. Also, along with the onset of the dark part of the year, on the first three nights of samonios, the Celts celebrated the new year. The holiday in the Latin version was called "Three nights of samonios". The alternation of the dark and light parts of the year in spring was also celebrated with a holiday. Subsequently, the pronunciation changed in accordance with the pronunciation rules in Gaelic languages, and by the beginning of our era, the holiday acquired the name Samhain, like the corresponding month. The pagan holiday was celebrated by the magical world after the adoption of Christianity by folks inhabiting Britain. So, at the Irish court in Tara, Samhain was celebrated in the first three days of November, crowded and in compliance with all ancient traditions, back in the XII century. According to the ancient chronicles, Samhain was a holiday for all the peoples of the British Isles at the same time and was strongly associated with death and the supernatural forces. At the same time, there is no evidence that in pagan times the holiday had any special significance other than agricultural and seasonal. Traditionally, it is believed that the perception of Samhain as a dark pagan holiday associated with the dead owes its appearance to Christian monks of the 10th-11th centuries, who wrote about it about two centuries after the adoption of All Saints' Day and about 400 years after Ireland adopted Christianity. At the same time, already in the 8th century, All Saints Day began to gradually replace Samhain; thanks to the interpenetration of Gaelic traditions and Catholic rites, the first beginnings of a future Halloween are beginning to form. According to ancient tradition, Samhain was considered a holiday dedicated to the beginning of the new year. Traditionally, the harvest was divided up on Samhain, and it was also decided which part of the cattle would survive the winter and which would not. The last part was cut to make supplies for the winter. Bonfires were burned during the celebration. Druids predicted the future. People jumped through the fires or passed between two high fires standing next to each other. This ritual meant purification by fire.

  
“The traditions of the holiday are much deeper than we think,” Hermione muttered, startled by Snape's mesmerizing lecture. He chuckled indulgently.

  
“Yes, Samhain has little to do with pumpkins, bats, and spider webs hanging everywhere. Ghosts, however, are quite real. Therefore, I was not surprised to face them. Obviously, I managed to get into the time period between Beltane and Samhain: May 2 and October 31, the lightest and darkest day of the year, when the line between the worlds is thinning and we can see otherworldly forces. That is why on Samhain it is customary to kindle fires, burn special herbs and remember."

  
For the first time, Hermione saw her professor like this: upset, confused, slightly frightened by something, as if by her appearance she interrupted the course of events of this night. Snape gave Hermione some herbal tea, ordered her to look carefully, while he sat down beside her and peered into the flames. In those minutes he lived according to the ancient the canons, he worshiped the ancient gods, he lived through magic rituals. There was something about those ancient rituals that Hermione would never guess, it was something primordial, naive, and wise. And eternal... Like life, like time, like magic itself.

  
Through the haze of her almost sleep, Hermione saw Snape lighting a bunch of wormwoods, heather, and juniper, and stretching out his palms to the fire.

  
“Today is Samhain, Miss Granger, today it is time to remember."

  
"We have lost so many, Professor, in all these merciless and meaningless battles..."

  
"Yes, and therefore today is the time to forgive."

  
"Forgive?"

"You have to forgive yourself. Do not think that I have no one to grieve for and no one to remember, I also lost, and fought, and grieved, and blamed myself. But on this night, you do not need to mourn our fallen, you need to remember them, and to forgive yourself, you need to wish them peace on their road to the light and you need to start living your own life."

  
"Sir, I..."

  
"Hush, just stay quiet, Hermione, and remember."

  
In the silence, Hermione and Severus watched the candles burn out and the room plunged into darkness. At dawn, it began to snow, and in her fleeting dream, Hermione said goodbye to everyone who had left them and begged them to help Professor Snape.


	7. Chapter 7

When the sleepy haze subsided, Hermione found herself in her own apartment, snuggled under the covers, in her bedroom that had cooled down during the night. Crookes stared with displeased eyes at his mistress, who again was somewhere away for the entire night. It snowed outside, a stack of unanswered letters from the Ministry awaited for Hermione. It seemed to Hermione that the time to take a day off and think more seriously about solving a problem named Severus Snape finally had come. Severus Snape and Time Loops.

  
Hermione shook her head in disbelief and dropped her feet to the cold floor. The apartment, which had been chilled out during the night, made her screech, wrap herself up in her dressing gown, and rush into the bathroom. Shower and coffee first. Save the world after breakfast. Crookshanks, winding around her bare ankles, could not help but purr delightfully at Hermione's enthusiasm.

  
Later, sitting at a table lined with empty cups and a half-empty frying pan with a half-eaten omelet, Hermione finally managed to wake up and put her hectic thoughts in order. So, Severus Snape fell into a time loop, managed to deceive death, and linger on this side of existence, however, magic demanded a price, forcing him to live the same day over and over again without end until he was able to walk down the path from the door to the gate and on his way to face all the ghosts from his own past trying to haunt him.

  
“Pretty situation you've got yourself into, I must admit…” Hermione remembered her own remark, which she muttered to Snape in a sleepy voice. He only raised an eyebrow in response.

  
"I will not argue, but, you see, this is much better than rotting in the ground or lying on the dirty floor of the Shrieking Shack. Moreover, much better than being branded as the ghost of the most intimidating professor at Hogwarts."

  
“You have a disgusting sense of humor, just so you know,” Hermione grumbled, wrapping herself chilly in the blanket. She occupied his sofa and his coffee table completely, but Snape didn't seem to mind the intruder at all.

  
"You have to agree with me, I would hardly have found my famous title if I were a little more positive. Besides, who else can boast of having wrapped death around his little finger? What do you say now, Miss Granger?"

  
“And strange understanding of success,” the still angry Hermione said with annoyance. "Besides, why are you so sure that at the gate you will return to the world of the living? what if, there is another hidden portal?"

  
“Anyway, I would like to try,” Snape confessed suddenly, and Hermione felt chilled to the bone.

  
No matter what they said, Severus deserved this right more than anyone else. In the most difficult times, he continued to fight, no matter what. Because deep down, he loved life too much to give up so easily. He was fascinated by magic, he was attracted by science, eternal riddles called for solutions, he ought to live.

  
He deserved to find his way to the light. And Hermione was determined to help him.

  
It was time to take the first step.

  
And so she again froze for a moment, gathering her strength, counted the twelve turns of the Time-Turner, closed her eyes so that the next second she would be in the already familiar yard of Snape. And here was the Professor himself, running in a race with the darkness, as if he sought to overtake death itself as if he was trying to grab life by the tail and with its help find his way to the light. But there were too many ghosts surrounding him.

There appeared his parents, they raised their sullen faces and angrily reprimanded him for his wrong choices, while they hardly had any concern with their son. Here was Dumbledore once again confronting Severus with impossible tasks, and later throwing him at the feet of Darkness, when Severus happened to not live up to the Headmaster's expectations. And here was Lily Potter walking closer, pursing her lips, shaking her head sadly, and the Marauders were already running after her, ready to mock and hate their most hated enemy.

  
There were dozens and dozens of them, those ones whom Snape met in his life. And all these ghosts were ready to reproach him for something, ready to hurt, mock, take for granted, and appeal to his conscience.

  
Hermione was never known for her ability to calmly wait on the sidelines, so brushing off all the rules, she rushed forward, hiding Severus facing the ghosts herself.

  
And now, instead of people from his past, she saw her parents, Ron, Remus and Tonks, Sirius Black, Fred Weasley, Professor Vector, acquaintances, and friends.

  
"We believed in you so much, daughter."

  
“I loved you so much, Mione."

  
"What about Teddy, Hermione? Who would take care of him?"

  
"How will George be without me? If only you didn't hesitate just for a second..."

  
"What will happen to Harry now, Hermione?" After all, you were the smartest witch of your generation."

  
But Hermione didn't hear their words. She fell to her knees, covering her face with her palms: she should not see, should not answer, she should not give up.

  
"You made your choice. I have nothing to do with it! Do you hear me? I have nothing to do with you!"

  
Hermione screamed, trying to overcome the wind, control the rain, and cope with this revived nightmare. Desperate to get to her feet, she suddenly felt herself being held firmly in strong arms and practically carried back into the house.

  
"It's okay, dear heart, it's okay. You are safe. It's all over."

  
"But... that's not true," Hermione muttered, clinging to Snape. "My parents are alive, and so is Ron, and I have nothing to do with the death of Fred or Sirius..."

  
“Of course not, Hermione. It is the magic of Samhain that is playing tricks on us. And our own conscience. It is not your fault. They made their choice. So fate decreed."

  
“I just wanted to help,” Hermione said, in a barely audible voice.

  
“Not at such a price. We'll find another way out."

  
“But we just need to get to the gate.

  
"Not at this cost," Snape repeated stubbornly. “You shouldn't fight my own battles for me."

  
"I don't want death to take you away," Hermione whispered, her unspoken "from me" still ringing in the air.

  
"The death might try," Snape grinned.


	8. Chapter 8

So, they tried. They tried time after time to walk the haunted path from the door to the gate. Four hundred steps. Sixty heartbeats. An eternity long trail. The thorns of remorse were too sharp to be able to endure the pain they brought with them.

  
As soon as they ran to the gate, darkness appeared from somewhere, similar to the tentacles of Dementors, and reached out to its victims. The darkness was full of new voices, the darkness exploded in memory with half-forgotten faces and brought with it new reproaches, revived old fears, and dug into the heart.

  
For the hundredth time trying to outrun the darkness, Snape grabbed Hermione's arm and Apparated into the house without unnecessary equivocation. Once inside, he threw his boots in different directions and collapsed to the floor against the wall.

  
"That's all. Enough. Next time I will go alone. You don't need to live the same nightmare over and over again, Hermione."

  
"So, you are chasing me away?" Hermione whispered angrily.

  
Snape rubbed his temples wearily and looked into her eyes. She had never seen such an open gaze before. Pain splashed in the depths of his dark eyes, together with unrepentant remorse, and a faint glimmer of hope. It was as if she had been electrocuted. She moved closer.

  
“I don’t know what’s going on, and I certainly don’t dare to give a name to that feeling that bloomed inside us during these three weeks, that we have been walking in this vicious circle, but please, Severus..."

  
“I couldn't drive you out even if I wanted to,” Snape muttered into the void and, closing his eyes, and leaned against the rough wall.

  
“We're pathetic, aren't we?

  
"Does it bother you?" Snape opened one eye and squinted at Hermione. She chewed her lip thoughtfully, trying to find the solution to their problem.

  
"Not at all. You know, I could stay here, help you complete the repairs in the house, plant flowers, arrange them on the windowsills, renovate the laboratory."

  
“Don't talk nonsense, Hermione. You are not going to ruin your talents here."

  
"Talents?" Hermione shook her head mockingly. "Not that I’m complaining, but an empty apartment, a broken engagement, once pissed off best friends, parents who have forgotten that they had a daughter, and another boyfriend who sees me as a sensation at first and never a person? What talents are you talking about, Severus?"

  
“You know perfectly well what I mean. I'm not going to mollycoddle you now."

  
“And yet, you still haven't thrown me out of the house."

  
“What's the point if you still hold the Time-Turner in your hands and knock on my door at dawn?"

  
"You are saying it wouldn't make you happy?"

  
"Stop being cheeky, Miss Granger," Snape snorted, turning to face Hermione.

  
"Perhaps I am, but you were pleased with the "Potions Monthly" I brought you the other day, and with gingerbread cookies and black coffee, just admit it."

  
"Who knows, maybe I just missed the coffee."

  
“And when I showed you the article published in the Potions Master's Herald on your work on improving the Wolfsbane Potion, you didn’t look hungry for coffee, sir,” Hermione teased, hiding a smile.

  
"The article was under your name."

  
"Are you suggesting that I should bring Rita Skeeter next time?"

  
"Merlin forbid! I have enough of the ghosts in my life. Why are we still sitting on the floor?"

  
"I don't care."

  
“Me either,” Snape agreed and leaned back against the wall.

  
“I don’t want to say goodbye,” Hermione admitted suddenly.

  
"Fate never gave me what, as it seemed to me, I deserved, it swayed in front of my nose with limitless possibilities, and then left with nothing, but I got used to fighting, either for the sake of blood purity at first or out of a sense of protest against that mad doctrine later... Therefore, I will fight, Hermione, for this ..." Snape threw up his hands vaguely, "For these... Merlin... These feelings, which I shouldn't even have, but I already spent a good half of my life fighting the Darkness to retreat. And nevertheless, I would like to say that if the situation is not good for us, you should not bury yourself within four walls and grieve for the lost opportunities until the end of your days."

  
"Severus, I..."

  
"You must live. I don’t want you to wander through the dusty and dark rooms of this house that seems to suck the life out of everyone who dares to approach it. I don't want you to reproach yourself for losing, to grieve, or spend your days in the library looking for some miraculous solution. I hate to say goodbye, but you see, I don’t know how or why, but I’m glad to be here right now. It's always sunny above the clouds, Hermione, and I'm glad to see that sun."

  
Hermione looked at Snape in shock, eyes burning with tears, and then threw herself into his open arms.

And, finally, the long-awaited day came the day, which, perhaps, was going to be their last day among the insane series of meetings and partings. They stood at the open doors, Hermione fiddling with her seemingly useless magic wand, Severus finishing his coffee: the last meal of the condemned man. Nobody wanted to speak, they just wished they could stretch out those bitter minutes of farewell and dare to look tomorrow in the eyes.

  
Crossing the threshold, Severus kissed Hermione's icy fingers and walked confidently toward the gate.

  
And again the ghosts flocked from all sides, as the Dementors flock, sensing the suffering of the prisoner, and again Severus looked them in the eyes, without changing his proud posture. Hermione followed him confidently. Even if to lead him into another life and say goodbye at the gate.

  
Suddenly a bright light blinded them, and out of nowhere materialized the imposing figure of Albus Dumbledore, seemingly even now dressed in a motley robe. Severus lost his pace, Hermione slamming into his back. Taking a step back, Severus wrapped his arms around her waist and looked questioningly at Albus.

  
“You say this is the end, Albus?"

  
The Headmaster just smiled indulgently.

  
“Love, my dear boy, is the purest and most invincible force. Miss Granger, you know what to do."

  
As if waiting for approval for her insane plan, which she carefully concealed from Snape, Hermione grabbed his hand and, closing her eyes, Apparated away from the yard.

  
Disappearing into the haze of Apparition, they heard: "And the last enemy shall be destroyed - death", and never before this pretentious statement seemed so truthful to them.


	9. Epilogue

A dense October fog was covering Irish hills and falling on the shore like some transparent foreign blanket. The wind was blowing, the haze was as thick as pea soup and it seemed one could touch it with one’s fingers.

Snape was fond of severe Irish weather; it was the main reason why he chose Ireland for living after having retired from Hogwarts – isolation, seashore and harsh climate. It seemed to rain here the better part of the year but when autumn came, everything transformed beautifully.

The leaves became this subtle shade of amber, the grass turned emerald-green, the fog was descending from the hills and into the fields full of pumpkins and withered heather, and the sea was restless with upcoming storms.

There was a lighthouse not far from Snape’s home and he often went there for a walk, wondering that if he ever could choose, he would become a lighthouse-keeper, but now everything was automated and all the romantics was lost forever.

Anyway, he always found solace among the sea – and nature’s fury when the human being appeared to be highly vulnerable and surprisingly free from every possible burden.

Salty and cool water mist was coming from the sea, and he breathed deeply enjoying his evening walk. The weather forecast predicted storm but his house was warm and secure, so Snape was looking forward to nature’s rampage.

Today was Autumn Solstice and an almost unnoticed ray of hope was shining in his soul. “She might come. She might come tonight”, he whispered almost like a mantra on his way home.

At home, Snape put the steak into the oven, lit an old oil lamp in case of power outage and begin waiting without knowing what he was possibly expecting to.

Right at seven o’clock in the evening she knocked on his door and smiled sheepishly.

“Do you mind my coming?”

“You’ve already come.” he answered stepping back and letting her in. She let out a little smile and gave him a bottle of Sauvignon.

“Well, hello to you too.”

“Come in, let’s close the door, the storm is coming” Snape muttered hesitatingly. 

“That’s why I came to see you. I missed severe Irish weather; I missed your lighthouse and your home, besides, and today is autumn solstice, my first anniversary of being a curse-breaker and… a year since that terrible interaction between us and the Time-loop. I didn’t want to be alone.”

“You did the right thing coming; besides, today is the night to remember.”

After these words they settled at the small wooden table and silence appeared between them.

At first, she was silent but after some minutes she asked:

“Will we burn the herbs tonight?”

So, they did.

They sat by the fireplace, admiring the dancing of the flames, they drank wine and burned herbs to drive the darkness away. Snape was telling her ancient tales and she listened, always eager to learn something new.

Snape marveled the shadow-play on her hair and amber-like flashes of light in her eyes. She didn’t know how beautiful she was to him, but he wasn’t sure how to tell her about it.

A year has passed since the last Samhain. Hermione worked as a dark curse-breaker, Snape was engaged in potions and his herb garden, but every month she regularly stood on his doorstep and he happily took her into his arms. They did not dare to give a name to what was blooming between them, but both were happy. Hermione hurried to Severus, and he was always waiting for her at home.

Peace finally reigned in his life, and the light managed to break through the darkness that had accumulated over the decades.

Severus was Hermione's safe haven.

Hermione was his light.

And the fires of Samhain chased away all ghosts from their shared past. 

End. 


End file.
